Space and Privacy
by Call me Red
Summary: Jubilee stumbles upon a secret better left to the imagination...mild language, so, whatever.
1. Perfection

  
Disclaimer: She grumbled and muttered under her breath, "You heard me. They're not mine."  
The man in the black trench rolled his eyes. "Yes, we've heard this all before, Ms. Red. Now, would you like to explain what these are?"   
She swallowed, trying not to show her growing panic. He held her fan fics. "Those? Those are, uh...nothing. Nothing at all."   
"I see," the man mused, handing the papers to a nearby cronie. "Ms. Red, we do have ways of making you talk..."   
Out a back room, two thugs wheeled out a television. She knew what was coming. She braced herself.   
"Let's see how tough you are after a few hours of this..." The man slid the tape into the VCR.   
"Welcome to Richard Simmon's Sweatin' to the Oldies! Ready everyone? And one, and two..."   
"Nooooo!" she writhed in pain at the torture as the man in the black trench coat smiled and slid the plugs into his ears...  
  
Bottom line: Don't pretend to own superheroes.   
  
  
  
Space and Privacy   
  
  
Space and a little privacy, that's all I ask for.   
  
Well, maybe the list doesn't end there, but those two (teeny, tiny, hardly a lot) requests are always up near the top. Always the ones that I scream and moan about to whoever will listen (which is hardly anyone, trust me). Is a little peace and quiet occasionally too much to ask for? I mean, come on! Will I never be able to feel completely confident my things and possessions can be left unattended?  
  
Apparently, yes and no.  
  
For the fourth time in my memory, I had lost something else to the clutches of one Robert Drake: this time, my car keys (don't ask me what it had been last time; you'll only open old wounds). At dinner, I thought to myself: I'll drive into town, pick up a few necessities, and be back in time for last call or so (see, I was in a good mood, then). But the spot where the keys hung on the rack was...empty.   
  
I knew who had done it, even before I let out the traditional (mandatory, constant, necessary, whatever) shriek of anger. "DRAKE!"  
  
Bobby, by this time, was of course long gone.   
  
I grumbled, realizing yelling would do no good, and only get me a headache and a reprimand from Ol' One-Eye. Thoroughly pissed off, I walked the halls to catch the first sucker who would lend me their car for a couple hours.   
  
It was just like that stupid icecube wannabe to do something mean and nasty like this (without asking, as usual). Ever since I had actually got the stupid license, I'd been competing endlessly with Kitty, or Bobby, or some other random person for the right to drive my own car (well, ah, it wasn't actually mine; to put it correctly, it was a generous loan from the Professor). Having a driver's license was supposed to be great; no more relying on other people to cart my hide around...right? Wrong! In fact, I practically have to wrestle for my own keys.   
  
And it would figure that on this lovely evening that everyone was missing. Well, not missing, but out. In their cars. Probably having a good time.   
  
I drifted along the halls, peeking in open doors and knocking on the closed ones. No Storm. No Bobby (although that one was a given, but I slipped his Pearl Jam CD into my pocket anyway. All's fair...). No sign of Logan anywhere. Not that that was a surprise.   
  
My ears heard soft music from somewhere down the hall. Oh, great. Figures that Jean was the only one home. It just made sense that SOMEONE UP THERE was out to make my bad day even worse.   
  
I tapped lightly on the doorframe, hoping there was actually no one inside. "Hello? Anybody home?"  
  
But nooo, Jean emerged from the bathroom, hair wrapped up in dozens of neatly pinned rollers. "Oh, hey," she greeted softly, a smile on her face. "Come in, if you like."  
  
I entered, against my better judgement. I had to, she was being so damn nice...  
  
"What can I do for you?" Jean asked, as she disappeared back into the bathroom.   
  
"Well," I started, dawdling near the doorway. Had to made sure a quick getaway was possible..."I was just wondering if you were going out tonight."   
  
The redhead appeared yet again at the bathroom's door. "Well, yes. Scott's taking me out to..." she stopped herself, adjusting a curler on her head that threatened to tumble. "Why?"   
  
I sighed. "No, forget it. I just wanted to go to town and..."  
  
"You can have my keys, Jubes. We're taking his car." My eyes brightened considerably.   
  
"Great. I mean, Popsicle stole mine on me again. That twerp's got no manners."   
  
Jean smiled as she pulled out a random pin. "Maybe if you stopped hanging your keys where he could always find them the problem would stop."   
  
"Oh. Uh, maybe," I forced. I hadn't thought of that, but I'd be damned if I let Jean know that. "That wouldn't stop him."   
  
Jean turned back to me. "You'll have to wait a few minutes, or go find Scott. He has my keys." Figures. Laser Boy was whipped softer than a bag of marshmallows.   
  
"Oh, no problem." I headed for the door. "Any idea where he is?"   
  
The answer from the bathroom sealed her fate. "No, sorry. Why don't you just wait here? He'll probably be by soon."   
  
I sighed and returned to the room. "Why not?" I replied in a tone I hoped sounded as sarcastic as I meant it. May as well hammer that last nail in the coffin.   
  
I flopped myself down on the bed, my fingers finding their idle way to a book sitting on top of the silky sheets. I flipped through its pages, more for the sake of something to do than to actually skim the contents. I traced over the words of its raised title. Body & Soul...right. Whatever that meant. This thing was pretty thick...  
  
Jean sat down at her nearby vanity, preparing to take down her hair. "So, anything special you need the car for?"   
  
I reminded myself not to roll my eyes. "Oh, no, not really. Just going...out." She decided to leave it safely at that.   
  
She nodded, preoccupied with managing her newly curled hair.   
  
I placed the paperback back on the soft cover of the bed and lay down. Nice view, I thought to myself as my eyes caught the window. It had been a lovely day, and was turning into an equally perfect evening. Perfect days often annoy me. Perfect things annoy me...  
  
"Hey, Jean?" I sat upright again. "What's this about?" I felt around for the book again, and held it up when my hand found it.   
  
Jean glanced over. She had been running a comb through her newly perfect waves, that fell together in perfect unison (remember, how I said before how perfect things annoyed me? Behold the most annoying thing in the world...). "Oh that? Just a book I picked up a little while ago."   
  
"Oh," I replied, biting my lip. Oh, the many things I could toss her way that would make her perfect hair stand on end...but no. Yeah, yeah, I let myself think, play it off like you don't go out looking for things that make you look all intellectual and wonderful. And perfect.   
  
Play it cool, Jubes, something said inside my head. Remember, she reads minds.   
  
"What's it about?" I hate silence. Especially awkward silence.   
  
"A piano player." She pinned back a lock with a diamond clip that disappeared within the mass of her hair. "And his life."   
  
Snore. "Is it good?"   
  
She paused for a moment, a bobby pin pinched between her teeth. "Yes, mostly. I don't like the ending, though."   
  
"You're reading it again?" I noticed the bookmark placed in the middle of the thick pages.   
  
"Uh-huh." She excused herself and vanished into her enormous cavern of her closet (filled with perfect outfits, I guarantee you). More like a department store.   
  
I took the (obvious) opportunity to sort through the room. Hey, look, I didn't know when I'd ever get the chance again, okay? It's not like I was gonna take anything. I scanned the few framed pictures next to the bed: one of Jean when she was a kid with another blond girl. More than a few of her and Scott (could his smile get any bigger? Geez...). Anyway, that got boring quick.   
  
I made my way over to the little vanity. It was nice. Very classy (like I'd expect anything else from Miss Priss...). I actually felt my eyes widening as I took in the dozens of jars, bottles and tubes of every cream, powder or paste that a woman could possibly justify owning. And my bet was she didn't use half of this junk.   
  
I sat myself down on the cushioned seat (very comfy) and gazed into the dimly lit mirror. For a moment, it was kinda surreal (thank you, Dawson's Creek). Like, this was where Jean sat every morning to look at herself. Weird...  
  
I opened a random jar and dabbed a little of the white gunk on my chin. Then, my forehead. The jar slipped from my hand.   
  
It knocked into the jewellery box (velvet, of course), and I hurried to put it all back. And I saw the paper. I knew right off, I was not supposed to see it, and guessed from where it had been (past tense) hidden, no one else was supposed to either.   
  
But, to me, that was like, an invitation.   
  
I carefully slid it from its spot under the box (I think it had been taped to the bottom, actually) and realized it was an envelope. Oh, God, it was just getting better.   
  
Inside was a letter (folded carefully, and obviously pretty old) and a picture, bent in half. I examined the picture first.   
  
It was a shot of Jean, leaning against a big rock overlooking a cliff. There was a fence, way in the background. And a couple of trees. It didn't look like any place around here. I flipped it over to read the faded scribble on the back. I could barely make it out:   
  
Jean, thought you'd want this. Logan.   
  
I was tempted. To open the letter. And read it. And make photocopies. And distribute it nationally. But I didn't. God knows why. Don't worry, I kicked myself later. I could only imagine what was on that letter! Why, oh, why did I have to grow a conscience?   
  
I replaced it where it had been, wishing I had a stapler handy so it would never fall down again. I had to do it really quickly, otherwise I know I'd have second thoughts. I practically jumped out of the chair and onto the bed, sticking my nose into that stupid book still lying on the sheets. Jean walked out.   
  
"Okay then," she began, grabbing a leather purse sitting near the door. "Ready?"   
  
I looked up to her. She was standing at the door, expecting me to be itching to leave. I got up slowly. "Yeah, I'm ready."   
  
Jean frowned, brow furrowed. "What? What is it?"   
  
I tried to smile. "You look perfect."   
  
  
  
Later that night, after I had gotten the keys (which Scott turned over reluctantly, only after Jean persuaded him to) and done my thing, and gotten home (on time, for once in my life), I sat in my room. Well, in front of my computer, trying to cough up a report due on Monday. But, of course, how could I think about that? I had that...thing on my mind.   
I passed Logan when I was coming up to my room. Said hi...got a grunt in response. I wanted to ask...I wanted to so badly. But what could I say? So, I was poking in Jean's room, okay? And I found this old picture...you got something you wanna tell me, Wolvie?   
  
I could never bring it up with Jean...for one thing, I didn't like her much (for my own reasons!) and for another thing I wasn't supposed to have been searching her room in the first place. The only option, it seemed, was to choke it out on my deathbed...actually, that might even work. I gave up on the quest to finish that damned report.   
  
I could have stayed on the bed with the friggin' book and none of this would be bothering me right now. If only I didn't listen to that stupid evil voice inside my head (Go ahead, Jubes, you might find something interesting...besides, she'll never know) and let it be. Hey, that was a Beatles song...oh, man! I wasn't even good at distracting myself!   
  
I remembered at breakfast that morning, when I was busy scarfing scrambled eggs. I had glanced over at Logan (I tend to do that a lot; I have to look out for him, after all) and he was staring in Jean's direction...not that that was bizarre or anything. Now that I thought about it, it was a wonder they could be in the same room without causing an explosion. I'd heard plenty of their convos I wasn't s'pose to. What was it Logan saw in her...precisely, I mean? Sure, she was beautiful (you didn't hear it from me), but big deal. A lot of chicks were pretty. What was so fantastic about this one?  
  
Maybe there was something else...who knew? Logan was weird like that. He had tried to explain it one night, I think; one late, late night I had stumbled upon him in the kitchen. I don't think he meant to. He didn't use her name, not once, but I could tell he was talking about Jean.   
  
'So?" I had asked after his words had stalled a bit.   
  
"Bottom line is, kid," he chased a puff from his cigar (which he was not supposed to have in the house, but it's not like I was gonna tell or anything) with a deep gulp from his beer. "Love hurts."   
  
"You don't recommend it, then?" I remarked dryly. I felt he spoke from experience; I knew actually. But there was something about the situation that kept me dawdling at the surface. I didn't ask who, partly because I didn't wanna know.   
  
Logan, sure enough, disliked my tone. "No hurt in the world like what comes from having someone to love..." He threw his half-empty can into the garbage. "'Night. Don't stay up late."   
  
At the time, I didn't know what shocked me more; the fact that he had just admitted something he never would have in daylight, or that he had just sounded like Cyke. Don't stay up too late? What the hell was that?   
  
Er, anyway, like I was saying. I'd have to pay more attention to those two...as much as I didn't want to (I did not need to witness how very perfect Miss Priss was, anyway). And I figured I'd work up the courage to ask about the picture and stuff. But for now, it's under my hat...even though I don't own any hats. Do you have to have a hat, or is that just an expression? And so what, ooh, you'll keep it under your hat, big deal. It's not like locking it in a safe or something.   
  
I got off track again, sorry. I do that a lot.   
  
  
THE END  



	2. Fallback

  
  
  
Disclaimer: What rhymes with orange? Nothing, which is exactly of much of Marvel I own. I rest my case.   
  
  
  
  
Space and Privacy, Part Two: Fallback  
  
  
  
The paper was ready to fall apart.   
  
It was too old, too worn, too treasured to exist for much longer, I knew. But how...how could I throw it away? How could I forget about it, just like that?   
  
I couldn't. I was just a sentimental old fool.   
Ask me to recite it, I could. Ask to me to point out precisely the spots where my tears had fallen, I would. Tell me I was clinging to something long dead, I'd agree.   
  
Not yet, I told myself, like I had a thousand times before, when I'd been in the same spot at my vanity, clutching the dying letter in one palm, thinking the exact same thoughts that had crossed my mind each other time.   
  
Just a sentimental old fool.   
  
  
  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because Jubilee, you're too young." I looked up from my book once again. So far, from what I'd heard around, Jubilee had tried to get every single member of the team to give her permission. Anyone would do, really. I was, apparently, a last resort. "And trust me, if Logan was here, he'd never even consider it." She looked up at me with big, puppy dog eyes, and I considered moving from my perfectly comfortable place where I sat reading contentedly. The armchair in the hall would do nicely.  
  
Jubilee followed me (oh, give it up already, child!). "But he's not here, Jean," she drawled, "and it's only, like, a concert, you know." She placed a hand on the spine of my book and gently tilted it down so I couldn't read it (no! Portia was about to confess her undying love for William!). "I never have to take any illegal drugs unless I want to...and I don't! Trust me, I don't!" I shook my head.   
  
"Sorry, Jubes, but no. I'd never hear the end of it from Logan." A fallback, purely a fallback. How was I supposed to know what he'd allow his little prodigy to do? There was certain ground on which one simply did not tread.   
  
"The end of what?" I whipped around, nearly dropping the book. Logan stood at the small flight of stairs that led into the dining room, his bag slung over one shoulder. He was (of course, I had pictured the scene in my mind every day) grinning.   
  
"You're back!" Jubilee raced toward him, arms open. For a spilt second, the jealously I felt made me heady. What I wouldn't give to be allowed to do that. I shook it off, intent on settling in the big red armchair in the hall and finishing chapter six. I heard Jubilee's excited chatter, and tried to block it out, my mind racing with bitter thoughts of annoyance.   
  
Was it really so hard to get a little space, and maybe a bit of privacy in this place? Ah, well, I'd known that when I signed up for the gig. I was actually tempted to lean over an inch or two to glimpse the look on Logan's face.   
  
Seconds later, Jubilee emerged from the French doorway across from me, carting that absurd bag containing Logan's few possessions, and quickly darted up the stairs. Logan walked out behind her (not as rapidly, you understand) and cast a lazy smile my way.   
  
"Logan," I murmured, suddenly breathless. "Glad to see you're home again."   
  
"No kiddin'." A smile creased his lips. "Whatcha been up to, Red?"   
  
"Oh, the usual. Risking life and limb to put food on the table. It's a living."   
  
"You miss me?"   
  
I buried my nose in the escapades of Portia and William, hoping this made me seem indifferent. "I suppose. It was awfully quiet around here without you to..." I trailed off, seeing the familiar look in his eyes.   
  
"I missed you," he said with little hesitation, little caution. I swallowed.   
  
I said nothing.  
  
"You know what day's comin' up?" He felt around his worn leather jacket for something, and finally pulled out a cigar.   
  
I shook my head, hoping and praying to God he remembered. Just once, if he could remember, would make everything okay. From behind the safety of my paperback, I judged his profile as he glanced out the window.   
  
He eased the flame of his lighter onto the cigar tip, clamping the top down after a few puffs. "Chuck's birthday," he said after a moment of simply looking me in the eyes. "Funny you forgot, ain't it?" He turned on his heel and slowly walked up the stairs to his room.   
  
And surprisingly enough, I didn't feel anything.   
  
  
  
  
After ten minutes at staring at the same page in the (and I use the term loosely) novel, I realized that (surprise, surprise!) something might be bothering me. As much as I poured over it, it was like an uneasy feeling you just get, for reasons that probably don't exist yet.   
  
The phone rang.   
  
I figured I may just be the only soul left to answer it (one disadvantage in a house fullof people: no one ever wanted to get the phone. I mean, EVER). I gently picked it up.   
  
"Hello?"   
  
"Uh, hi, is Logan there?" I was puzzled for a moment. She sounded so young...  
  
"I'm not sure," I drawled out, "but if you hold for just a sec, I could check."   
  
"Oh, sure, no problemo." Hmm. Did people still say that outside of bad eighties movies?  
  
I hurried up to Logan's room and found him inside, and, to my surprise, deeply engrossed in a scribbling something down from the pages of a book. I coughed to get his attention.   
  
"Logan?"   
  
"Huh? Oh, hey Red," he muttered, looking up only briefly from his studies to glance at me. "What's on yer mind?"   
  
"Phone."   
  
"What?"   
  
"There's someone on the phone. For you."   
  
He chewed on this information for a moment, then placed his pen down in the crevice between pages. "Take a message, would ya?"   
  
"No problemo," I smirked.   
  
"He's not here at the moment," I reported to the girl-child waiting faithfully on the other end.   
  
It took a moment for her response. "Well, okay, who am I speaking to?"   
  
I was tempted to be snippy and make life terribly difficult for her, but I simply answered, "Er, this is Jean."   
  
"Well, Jean, could you tell Logan that I called, please? It's Candy. Tell him Candy said everything is set for tonight. Thanks." With a quick giggle and a click, she hung up.   
  
"Ditz," I muttered under my breath as I slammed the receiver down. Just another ditzy airhead of Logan's, his newest (as Kitty put it) trophy of the month. Needless to say, I adored the way she put it.   
  
It was something I'd grown used to, the stream of pretty faces and empty heads that had passed through over time. Not that I'd notice, but lately they seemed to be growing in number (really, honestly, I didn't notice...). Logan had never been without...companionship, shall we say, ever since his very first days here (which didn't mean I had to dislike it any less). But all those girls (and most times that's all they were) had something I did not.   
  
Logan.   
  
I hated it. I hated all of them. They annoyed me. I was distracted. I was bothered. I was...  
  
I was hopelessly jealous.   
  
I scribbled the message down to the exact word and walked rather calmly (considering the words that were swimming in my head) to the room upstairs. He was in the same position as I had left him. I considered throwing my shoe at his head.   
  
"Here," I managed to say with such indifference and nonchalance it scared me. He looked up and reached out to grab it, his grasp about three inches off. I didn't move any closer. With a sigh, he stood up, placing all his stuff aside and walked over to where I stood, rigid as a marble statue.   
  
He snatched it from me, his eyes darting over my words. I think he sort of understood why I was slightly stubborn at the moment.   
  
"Oh, uh, thanks, Jeannie."   
  
I smiled, packing all the false sentiments I could in one gesture. "No problemo, Logan dear."   
  
  
  
  
Scott offered to take me into town with him, but I insisted he go without. I did not, however, dare let him of the hook. He left with a rather lengthy list of everything I had run out of in the span of a week. I'm sure he would have protested if I hadn't persisted with a smile. I sent him on his way with a kiss and my charge card.   
  
There was nothing to eat, of course, so I simply poured myself a cup of lemon tea and settled in front of the fire. I stretched out contentedly on the couch, considering rejoining the escapades of Portia and William. But after I had found it I couldn't bring myself to open to the dog eared page.   
  
I didn't turn when I heard the footsteps coming down the stairs. Not even when I knew the owner of the footsteps paused at the door for a moment, as if making up their mind.   
  
"Have a good time!" I called out with just enough malice to make him think twice.   
  
"Okay, I give." He walked up to the side of the couch side. "What is it?"   
  
I gazed up innocently from behind the pages of my book. "Why, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Logan." I pretended to be completely wrapped up in my book.   
  
"You can be a real bitch when ya wanna be, Jeannie."  
  
"And you can be a real asshole. What's your point?"   
  
"Look at me." After some hesitation, I did. "What's yer problem?"   
  
"Problemo," I corrected.   
  
"Is this about..." he stumbled, and suddenly looked generally stumped.   
  
"Candy."   
  
He frowned. "Right. Candy. Is that what you're poutin' about?"   
  
I stifled a laugh. "Please. Don't kid yourself." I straightened up in my chair. "I have better things to worry about than where-"  
  
He stopped me. "Stop it. It don't suit ya."   
  
I avoided his gaze. "Pardon me?"   
  
"Don't 'pardon me'. You know exactly what I'm talkin' about. Quit it."   
  
"Follow your own advice, Logan." I stood up, face to face with him. He's terribly intimidating. "Those girls are young enough to be my sister."   
  
"Didn't know ya cared."   
  
Abruptly, I turned away from him. "I don't."  
  
He was silence behind me for a moment. I tilted my head to see him as he nodded his head slowly. "Okay then. I'll see ya later, Red." The door slammed.   
  
Wonderful, I thought to myself. Simply divine. Strike up another one for ol' Foot in Her Mouth Grey.   
  
  
  
  
I felt someone poking me, gently at first, the rougher. I opened my eyes.   
  
"Hey!"   
  
"Oh, Jubilee," I was still slightly dazed. "Just the person I want to see."   
  
"Were you asleep?"   
  
I rolled my eyes and shifted my weight. "Apparently, yes." I looked around and noticed I was still in the couch in front of the fireplace.   
  
"What time is it?"   
  
"Eleven."   
  
"At night?" I had practically slept the whole night away.   
  
"No."   
  
"In the morning ?!?" I was three decibels short of shrieking. She nodded carefully.   
  
"Yeah. You've been here, like, all night." Thank you, Jubilee, for once again stating the obvious. I quickly jumped up and habitually ran a hand through my hair, which was stuck firmly to my head.   
  
"Okay then...have you had breakfast?"   
  
She gave me the strangest look. She nodded, and I crossed one thing off my mental list (they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and she IS a growing girl).   
  
After a beautiful, glorious shower, I dried my hair (which is no easy task) and made sure I was half-presentable or the day (which was no easy task, either). Upon arriving at the breakfast table, I was met with some debating looks. I fended them off with a wide grin.   
  
"Morning everyone!" I chirped, making my way to the nearest supply of food.   
  
"Don't you mean good afternoon?" Rogue smirked from behind the safety of her coffee cup.   
  
I laughed, maybe a little too quickly. "Oh, very funny." I sat down, immediately noticing the absence of one person from the table. "Where is everyone?"   
  
"Well," Hank started, brushing a few crumbs from his muffin away. "Scott, as you probably know, is leading a small training session downstairs." I nodded, pretending to know what he was talking about. "Bobby is in town, and Logan, why I haven't seen him all morning."   
  
"He never came home last night, is all," Rogue purred, a grin dancing on her lips. "The ol' devil."  
  
Yep, there it was, the thought that had bothered me all last night for hours before I finally forgot for a spilt second and managed to fall asleep. He was, as I stared at the glowing fire, with another woman. He was, as I worried and reassured myself that it was all in my head, with another woman. He was, as I finally calmed down enough to get some rest, with another woman.   
  
I gulped my juice down so fast it hurt, and politely excused myself, hoping that I didn't look as frazzled as I felt.   
  
Shut up, I told my mind. He's not yours. He's a big boy. He can do whatever he wants to. But my mind insisted otherwise. It remembered.   
  
Words, words from the letter, the letter he had written jumped into my thoughts.   
  
Don't ask me to forget, 'cause I never could, Red.   
  
One line, one single line that repeated and repeated and repeated until I felt dizzy.   
  
Don't ask me to forget, he'd said.   
  
I never could, he'd said.   
  
He had lied to me, I realized with so much sorrow it actually weighted my shoulders. It was nothing to him; but everything, oh yes, everything to me.   
  
I locked myself in my room, feigning illness. I wouldn't even let Scott inside. I moaned about my own misery for a while, having a well of denial built up somewhere inside. All of this only watsed twenty minutes. Oh, damn it.   
  
Damn denial!   
  
Damn Logan!  
  
And most of all, damn Candy!   
  
I heard a knock on my door. "Who is it?"   
  
"Jubilee."   
  
I realized how ridiculous I was being and let her in. "Hey, Jubes." I swept back my messy hair and guessed at what she wanted. "Here, I'll get my keys."   
  
She smiled. "Logan wants to see you."   
  
"What?"   
  
"He probably knew you wouldn't talk to him anyway, so he sent me up to get you."   
  
I blinked incredulously. "What?"   
  
"But you're not supposed to know that until you're downstairs, but I figured you didn't like surprises."   
  
"I adore surprises," I mused. "Tell him to do his own dirty work. If he wants to talk to me, he can come up himself."   
  
"So that's...an invitation?"   
  
"Why not?" I spat.   
  
But he didn't come. After waiting for fifteen minutes, thinking up the best thing to say to him when he finally did show up, he never came. Now I was just plain mad. I stalked down the hall to his room and found him sitting on his bed, lifting a few weights.   
  
"Well?" I crossed my arms and tilted my head. This had better be good.   
  
"Well what?" He looked up.   
  
"Why did you want to talk to me?"   
  
"Who said I did?" He slid the weights back under his bed.   
  
"But...you..." I gestured downstairs, but decided to give up when I realized he had no idea what the hell I was talking about. "Never mind."   
  
"I think the real question is, why did you want to talk to me?"   
  
Taken aback, I managed to stutter, "I-I didn't." Slowly I began to back out of the room.   
  
"Actually, now that yer here, we do have something to talk about." He grinned and moved closer. " I lied to you."   
  
"Oh?"   
  
"Thing is, I don't have a clue when Chuck's birthday is."   
  
"That's okay. He won't mind, I'm sure." I glanced around nervously.   
  
"But see, that ain't all..."  
  
Intuitively (I am psychic, after all) I realzied what topic he was speaking of. Suddenly, I wanted him to forget what day it was. I cut him off. "Did you have fun last night?" Of course, I didn't mean for it to sound so petty and vicious.   
  
He muttered a couple curses under his breath. "Dammit, Red, there ya go again!"   
  
"Logan, I'm sorry. But you can't just..."   
  
"What? What can I not do?"   
  
"You just can't!" I spun around and walked quickly back to my own room, knowing all too well he was going to follow me. He even closed the door behind him.   
  
"You can't go around with a different woman every night, then come back to me with all these pretty words."   
  
"I didn't say anything pretty."   
  
"No, but you were going to." Logan didn't argue. "Either go with those...girls, or come back to me. Not both."   
  
"Jeannie, I can't come back to you. And that ain't my fault." He paced the same path a few times to burn off his anger. "That is your fuckin' choice."   
  
"I know, I know it is," I said, pulling a clump of hair to ease my tension. "Why do we do this?"   
  
"Because."   
  
"That's not an answer."   
  
He paused, thinking for a moment. "It's been two years, hasn't it?"   
  
"Just about."   
  
"And nothing has changed." He scowled. "Nothing."   
  
"Well..." I began to argue, when I realized he was right. Not one thing had changed. "I think something should."   
  
I must have looked a tad loony diving for my vanity, pulling the safely taped letter from the belly of my jewellery box. With shaking fingers I separated the sacred letter and my photograph.   
  
"Here," I said, handing him the paper. "You take this."   
  
He accepted it, looking slightly puzzled. "Is this...?"   
  
"Yup. And now you take it back."   
  
"I gave it to you."   
  
"And now I'm giving it back. Receiving isn't everything."   
  
"Don't get that way now-"  
  
"Oh shut up, will you?" I placed two hands on my hips. "I want you to...go."   
  
"Go?" Still with the confused looks.   
  
"Go to...you know." I thumbed the glossy picture in the palm of my hand. "It's a metaphor."   
  
"What if I wanted to come back?"   
  
"You said yourself that can't happen." Despite what my mind specifically told me NOT to do, I reached out and cupped his face in my hands, stroking his face with my thumb. "Happy anniversary, Logan."   
  
He put on of his hands over my own. "Happy anniversary, Red."   
  
"Admit it," I said after a short silence. "I don't ask you for much. All I'm asking you to do now is forget."   
  
He brought my hands down and kissed them both. "For your sake, I'm going to say okay. Fine. That I will." He let my hands go, and they dropped to my sides. "But you know I ain't gonna." He smiled a little, half smile, and left.   
  
It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, before she found me, sitting on my bed, clutching my knees.   
  
"Um, Jean? Are you okay?" She moved in closer when she got no reply.   
  
"I'm fine, Jubilee. Just fine. Is dinner ready?"   
  
"Uh, yeah. Are you coming down?"   
  
"No," I replied slowly. "I think Scott and I will go out tonight."   
  
"Suit yourself." She shrugged her shoulders. "Have fun."   
  
And as collected myself and prepared to face life again after a brief stint as a pathetic, mixed up mess, I thought. I thought how good it was to have what I did. I thought how much worse off I could be. I thought what a long time two years could be, and how much things could change.   
  
Or stay just the same.   
  
  
  
  
THE END   
  
  



	3. Pretty Words

  
  
  
Disclaimer: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. You just remember that, Marvel, when it comes time to mail the lawsuits. Just remember.   
  
Author's Note: I found it pretty hard to write this entirely fron Logan's POV, not to mention in the first person. You have to try not to stray far from your storytelling, but avoid using terribly big words that Logan has probably never heard before (but i'm not judging here. That would be wrong). All of this, plus his general malice and bad grammer, adds up to my computer and its spell check hating me for a good week. Oh, sorry. Hatin' me.   
  
  
  
Space and Privacy Part Three   
  
  
I remember the time the kid asked why I left so much. I shrugged, plannin' to not answer, but then I got a brilliant one in my head.   
  
"Space, kid." I placed two hands under my head and grinned. "A guy needs his space."   
  
"Yeah," she agreed immediately. "I totally get that." I only nodded, leanin' my face back to take in the sun. I don't like rich people, but Chuck sure did have a great pool.   
  
Jubilee waited a couple minutes, sittin' next to me quiet like a mouse. "In that case...why do you come back?"   
  
I shrugged. Even with my eyes closed, I could sense her watchin' me. It was starting to bug me. "Why do you want to know so bad?"   
  
"I'm just tryin' to figure some things out," she replied in a small voice before scurrying away.   
  
Damn, sometimes that kid is just plain weird.   
  
I'll admit it, she's grown on me, that little twerp, but I'd also be the first to admit how funny she's gotten to actin'. I think it's just around me, nobody seems to notice (or care). And the questions she's workin' into our conversations (which are startin' to get shorter and shorter), with a technique she thinks is subtle. Her questioning, I don't mind, usually. But suddenly, they turn all philosophical and junk. Not to mention I ain't no philosopher in the first place.   
  
But I got my moments.   
  
Sometimes, Hanky boy would recite some poetry junk from his huge collection of poetry crap. Some people would listen, wrapped up in the pretty words (I've never been one fer 'em- pretty words that is). 'Course, I'd pretend he was speakin' Latin and that I didn't care either way. But I did, and I listened.   
  
"Love is not a tender thing..." I overheard one night while not listening. And holy shit, did that fucker ever hit the money. All those people out there, tryin' so hard to believe love as all flowers and moonbeams and midnight phone calls. It's bullshit. Having somebody to love is the worst thing I'd wish on a guy. Worse yet when somebody...when somebody loves him back.   
  
I think I've done one purely romantic thing in my life. And you should see what happened there. A mess, a total FUCKING mess.   
  
This is where, I guess, havin' a mother would come in handy. In fact, if I could remember dear ol' Mum, maybe she'd already have doled out some great advice on the right girl to marry. Mothers are smart like that; they know what they want for their kids. A hundred times, I'd wager, I wondered if she-my mother- I wondered what she wanted for me, her little boy. Hard to believe I was little once. Would she have warned me not to go fallin' in love with the wrong girl? Maybe then she'd go on about the definition of the wrong girl. In length. What I wouldn't give for a lecture like that. Just once.   
  
Mom would have warned me, I'm positive, to watch out for the pretty ones. They're always trouble.   
  
Funny thing is, I'm holding the letter in one hand, and have been fer a while now. The words have bled through the page, I'm pretty sure. Not that it matters, I know it all by heart. I can't read it again. It...it hurts. It hurts that she's right.   
  
Again.  
  
  
  
  
The way she tells it, it was Chuck who made it all happen.   
  
'Course, it's just like to Red to try and find some reason, somethin' logical to explain why we ended up in a different city, alone, together.  
  
According to her, Chuck figured she and Scoot needed space apart, that they were becomin' dependant on each other (he decided this, so One Eye kept his mouth shut). Normally, he'd mind his own friggin' business, but he had two assignments and four people free to go. He'd have to spilt the four of us up, so (as I'm sure ya guessed by now) Cyke went to Chicago with 'Ro, and I got Jeannie.   
  
I knew there was some reason I liked Chuck.   
  
Anyway, so after I planted my best smirk on my face, I waved to Ro and Cyke when they were packin' up the car, about to leave.   
  
He only said one thing to me before he climbed in the car. "Watch yourself, Logan. I'll know."   
  
I nodded smugly, thinkin' how very pissed he had to be. "Duty calls, Cyke," I called after his car. And I woulda done a little happy dance right there on the porch, but that went down the drain when Red appeared beside me.   
  
"Got your things packed?" she asked me. I shook my head instantly. "Well, hurry up. All my stuff is in the car, and I want to leave in an hour."   
  
"Yes, ma'am," I saluted her. She didn't seem too amused, though.   
  
"Don't, Logan, just don't." She turned and slammed the front door behind her. Ouch. Somebody wasn't too happy. I didn't get discouraged or anything. Encouraged is probably more like it.   
  
I laughed when I saw what we were takin'. "Me? Drive that?"   
  
"What's wrong with it?"   
  
"I am not goin' anywhere in a Sedan."   
  
"For heaven's sakes, don't be ridiculous. It's a car."   
  
"Come on, we're takin' mine." I opened the trunk and hoisted out the three suitcases (one was mine, the other were hers).   
  
"A Jeep?"   
  
"That's right, a Jeep. Climb in."   
  
She rolled her eyes and gave up, sliding in the passenger's seat. About ten minutes of cruisin' on the highway she announced, "It should take us about four hours or so to get to Philadelphia-"  
  
"Four hours? Are you nuts, woman?" She held up a corner of the map stretched in front of her.   
  
"No, I'm just going by these little numbers you've scribbled everywhere." She grinned. "So, you're nuts."   
  
"Must have made a mistake," I muttered under my breath as my eyes combed the road ahead. "Where do I turn?"   
  
"Right here," she said. I swung the wheel. "No, no! Not here! I meant right up there!"   
  
"You said right here. To me, that means turn RIGHT HERE!" I bawled while still tryin' to drive.   
  
"I didn't mean turn right, I meant turn up ahead," she yelled at me, about three seconds from beatin' me with the paper map. "Great. Now we have to drive until we find another exit."   
  
"In your world, maybe," I spat, swingin' the Jeep around.   
  
"Logan! It's a one way exit!"   
  
"Boo hoo."   
  
"You are so lucky there aren't any cops around here."   
  
"I ain't worried. Can't you just work yer magic?"   
  
"I hope for your sake you're talking about my irrepressible charm, because if you mean what I think you do-"  
  
"Oh, right, I forget. God forbid you use your power for evil. Like getting' outta a traffic ticket." I let out a deep sigh.   
  
"Asshole," she mused as she rolled down her window an inch.   
  
"What's that?" I pointed to the envelope I had seen outta the corner of my eye.   
  
"This," she answered, holding it a little tighter, "is the reason we're going to Philadelphia. We're delivering it."   
  
"Why don't he use send it?"   
  
"Because it's a very delicate, private delivery. Charles was afraid the mail wasn't the safest place to send it." She looked at me. "You weren't listening at all when he explained all this, were you?"   
  
"No," I stated proudly. "I was tryin to remember if Philadelphia was the Windy City or the Drunken City."   
  
She shook her head. "It's neither. The City of Brotherly Love. And I've never even heard of the last one."   
  
"I think I made it up," I admitted, easin' up a little. "So, we're deliverin' it, huh?"   
  
I'm pretty sure she rolled her eyes. "Yes, for the last time."  
  
"To where?"   
  
"I can't remember, I gave you the address. Just get that."   
  
"Oh, uh, I..." I realized that I didn't remember havin' the address on me, possibly had never had it to begin with. Did I just drop it somewhere...?  
  
"Relax, I was kidding. I've got it right here." I glanced over and she was tryin' not to smile. "It's for a Professor Gerald Kilmer at the Academy of Natural Sciences, on the corner of 19th and Cherry."   
  
"Geez, you got his social security number there too?"   
  
"Pardon?"   
  
"Never mind. Where we stayin' at?"   
  
"The Fredrick Plaza on York St."   
  
"Already I don't like it."   
  
"Well, I didn't make the reservations. Besides, you'll live."   
  
I had a great comeback to that, but I held it back. If there was one thing I didn't need, it was a pissed off woman in my car with the doors locked.   
  
  
  
  
"Gee, think they'll make some mistake in the rooms?" I asked as soon as we got to the hotel Chuck set us up in. I made sure she knew exactly what I meant by the question.   
  
"No, I don't think so," she answered. "Considering Scott made all the reservations. You know how detail-oriented he is."  
  
Well, sure, that was a nicer way of puttin' it, I guess.   
  
"Here are your keys. You're in Room 311," the lady behind the counter handed Jeannie a brass key, followed by my own. "And sir, you're in 445."   
  
"445?" I asked, positive they had to be some fuck-up. "Where's that?"   
  
"Right down the hall," Jean answered with a satisfied grin. "One floor up." She headed for the elevator, leaving her luggage for me to carry.   
Great. Just fuckin' fantastic.   
  
I knocked on Room 311 just before midnight and stood there waitin' in the hall like a tool for at least five minutes. When Red finally opened the door, I was about to leave.   
  
"Hi Logan," she said in the most civil tone she'd used all day. "How's it goin'?"   
  
"Been better," I muttered. "Just wanted to make sure everything was okay."   
  
"Well, that's nice of you, but I'm fine. Look," she pointed a thumb to inside the room. "I even figured how to get them to give me an extra pillow." And back to the sarcasm.   
  
"Good for you." We stood in silence for a few awkward minutes. "So...you want me to wake ya tomorrow?"   
  
"No thank you, I'm quite capable of doing so myself. I'll meet you in the lobby at ten." She made a move to close the door, but my hand whipped up to stop it.   
  
"Why so late?" I'm pretty sure I was smirkin'.   
  
Her eyes narrowed as she accepted my challenge. "Fine then. Nine."   
  
"Nine it is," I said seconds before the door slammed in my face. I was makin' progress.   
  
  
  
  
At ten to nine, Red walked out of the elevator, lookin' sharp and much better than I'd expect anybody to look so early (well, early to most people, not to me). She talked to the lady at the counter before breezin' her way over to me.   
  
"Logan." She said in a voice that stopped between crisp and friendly. Her mood from yesterday lived on. "Did you sleep well?"   
  
"Sure," I said, hands stuffed in the pockets of my leather bomber. "What'dya talk to her for?" I gestured to the front desk.   
  
"Oh, nothing. Just left a number where I could be reached," she replied, the last part mumbled under her breath.   
  
"For Chucko, of course," I reasoned, walkin' quickly to keep up with her.   
  
"Well, of course." The way she answered left a lotta questions.   
  
I nodded, "Good enough. You wanna drive?"   
  
She looked startled by the question. "What?"   
  
I dangled the keys in front of her. "Wanna drive?"   
  
She started to shake her head, but instead grabbed them from my hand. "Love to, thanks." She slid behind the wheel of the Jeep. I climbed in my side.   
  
"I've never driven one of these before, you know," she told me as she started the engine. It came to me that my life was suddenly in serious jeopardy.   
  
"You mean, ever?" I fastened my seatbelt a little tighter than usual.   
  
"Don't worry. I learn fast." She fiddled with the buttons next to the windows.  
  
"They unlock the doors."   
  
"Oh." Chicago was lookin' real good right about now.   
  
"I'd better pull over," she remarked as we neared a gas station.   
  
"Why? We have a full tank."   
  
She jumped onto the pavement. "For directions." I threw my head against the seat. Directions! We were in the Jeep three minutes and she wanted directions! When Jean returned, she handed me a plastic bag.   
  
"What's this?"   
  
"I thought you might be hungry, so I got you some stuff." She started up, glancing at the map half unfolded, with a thick pen line tracing our route.   
  
My eyebrows raised. That was...nice of her. I eyed the food suspiciously. "Kit Kat?"  
  
"Well, I reasoned. Everyone likes chocolate."   
  
"I don't."   
  
"You can't starve!"   
  
"How do you I didn't already have somethin' ta eat?"  
  
"I'm psychic?" She offered. "Besides, I bought it for you."   
  
"Here, you have mine."   
  
"Okay, here's the deal. You eat the chocolate and I'll let you pick the radio station." She'd let me? Right.   
  
But I caved. "Sounds fair." I ripped off the wrapper and swallowed a good chunk of the stuff before reaching for the knob.   
  
"You're joking, right?" She laughed. "Tom Jones?"   
  
"What's wrong with that?" I said in a growl.   
  
"Uh, nothing," she replied, thinkin' I was serious. "Just didn't have you pegged as a 'Tom Jones' kind of guy, that's all." Sighin', I switched the radio off.   
  
"Then what do ya wanna listen to?"   
  
"Look, I don't care. Go ahead, turn it back on," she said. "I insist."   
"I don't like Tom Jones, Red."   
  
"Colour me shocked." She peeked at me out of the corner of one eye. "For a minute there, I believed you." And then she smiled. Which made me smile. I shook it off.   
  
She handed me the map, pointing where we were headin'. "Tell me when to turn."   
  
"Three blocks ago."   
  
"What?"   
  
"The turn. It was three blocks ago."   
  
The jeep braked with a jolt. Jeannie rested her head on the wheel. "You're kidding me, right?"  
  
"Maybe I should drive?" She nodded weakly and climbed out. After I heard her door slam next to me, I picked up the map and ran my eyes over her scribbles.  
  
"Besides, I'm more of a Frank Sinatra fan myself," I muttered under my breath as I tired to find a way off the busy street.   
  
The rest of the trip was pretty quiet.   
  
I finally found the address. And I didn't even stop for 'directions', either. So there. I leaned over and nudged her awake.   
  
"Wakey, wakey, sleepin' beauty," I muttered as I whipped off the seatbelt (she insisted I clicked it on). She slowly sat up and stretched while I was already out the door.   
  
"Hey, wait up!" she called once she realized I was half way to the door. "You'll look pretty stupid with nothing to deliver." I waited on the top step while she broke her back tryin' to hurry.   
  
"Gimme the thing."   
  
"Don't even ask me." She hugged the thing closer.   
  
"I'm just sayin' I could take better care of it." I paused while she streamed past me into the building. "What's in there anyway?"   
  
"I promised I wouldn't tell."   
  
"Like you even know."   
  
"So what? I get to carry it."   
  
"Quit braggin' or the good doctor is getting' it in pieces."   
  
She smirked at me before whippin' around a corner into a small office. I ran in and caught her talkin' to a lady behind a desk.   
  
"Yes, this is for Professor Gerald Kilmer," Jean said to the tired lookin' lady. She gave me a suspicious look before Jeannie spoke up again, "From Charles Xavier."   
  
"Oh yes," the lady nodded and rubbed her hands together. "He's been expecting this, thank you. Could you just wait over there?" She nodded toward a little couch in the corner of the room. Jean sat down.   
  
"You've been here before."   
  
She had picked up a magazine lyin' next to her and began to thumb through it. "Yes, so?"   
  
"Nothin'. Just an observation."   
  
"Fair enough," she answered, standing back up a few timed seconds before the secretary re-entered.   
  
"If you would be so kind as to take this back to Mr. Xavier," the blond haired woman said, handin' a much smaller, slimmer envelope to Jean.   
  
"Certainly."  
  
"Thanks so much," she said again, sittin' back at her desk and signalin' it was time for us to go. Jean left, with me behind her.   
  
"So, now that that's done, what are we going to do for the few hours?" she said, half to herself, as we exited the Academy of Natural Sciences.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Well, that's the one thing we were assigned. And it's done. What now?"   
  
"I dunno. Wanna...just hang?"   
  
"What, are we fifteen or something?" She motioned to get in the car. "Let's be creative."   
  
"Not exactly my strong suit, Red."  
  
"Oh come on, we're in Philadelphia, for cryin' out loud."   
  
"Food?" I offered, staring the engine.   
  
She was quiet fer a minute, then agreed. "Well, if that's the best you can come up with, very well."   
  
"Okay then." I turned off the parking lot sharply and nearly knocked her outta her seat. "You really should be wearin' your seatbelt, Red."   
  
And if Chuck hadn't taught her so well, I'm pretty sure she wanted that handy TK of hers to maybe find out what sound a Wolverine makes when it hits solid pavement.   
  
  



	4. Lie to Me

  
  
  
  
  
So, there we were, after the food, walkin' down some nameless street in complete silence. She hadn't said a word fer a while, and I'd be damned if I'd break her train of thought.   
  
"Hold on a minute, Logan. I'll be right back," she disappeared into the little store we had just passed and left me high and dry on the curb. I stuffed two hands in my pockets and waited. She emerged carryin' a little plastic bag.   
  
"Whaddya get?"   
  
"Just some essentials," she answered, reachin' into the bag. "And this!"   
  
"A square of plastic?"   
  
"It's a disposable camera, genius. Everyone knows you're supposed to take a million pictures when you take a trip."   
  
"This ain't exactly a leisure holiday, Red," I muttered as she quickly pulled off a plastic tab and pointed the thing at me. "Don't you fuckin' dare."   
  
"I'd never guess you were camera shy," she teased under her breath, pausing to snap a few of skyscraper we walkin' past.   
  
"Geez, Red, you look like a tourist."   
  
"Oh, who cares? Half these people probably are, too."   
  
"And you're wastin' yer pictures, besides."  
  
"What do you suggest I photograph then?"   
  
"Well," I glanced around to see if I could spot anything. "That park maybe."   
  
So up went the camera, and off went the little clicks that snapped whenever she took a picture. I shook my head.   
  
"No, no," I grabbed the tiny thing from her easy. "You've got to capture the beauty in nature." I realized I set myself up for a perfect opportunity. "Go stand by that rock."   
  
"Wha- me?"   
  
"Sure. You're beauty. And look -nature's all around." Funny, it didn't sound corny and prickish in my head.   
  
She obeyed, while blushing, I'm pretty sure. It took me a couple minutes and three failed tries before I figured out how to make it snap.   
  
"You'd better hurry, the light's fading." I looked up to her to bark out some mean snap, but stopped.   
  
"Hold it, right there." I clicked the button and heard the satisfyin' snap. "Perfect."   
  
She climbed down and took the camera back, our hands brushing as she did. She paused a second longer than she should have before speakin'.   
"We should really get back to the hotel."   
  
I nodded.   
  
  
  
  
"Want to get a drink, Logan?"   
  
There's so much a guy can get from that question, especially when it's from a woman you've just spent the past two days with. Yep, the promises a drink holds...whole lotta fates are sealed by those five little words.   
  
Want to get a drink, Logan?   
  
But I looked at her, standing just outside the hotel bar, with her green eyes so tired that I knew she meant nothin' by it. Just thirsty, was all.   
  
"Sure Red, " I nodded, figuring that even a lousy excuse for a hotel bar would do the trick. And sure enough, it was crowded strictly with business types, and other general idiots I try to avoid. And now I'm drinkin' with 'em.   
  
Jeannie ordered and found us a table, brushing aside a newspaper someone had left behind. I took both our drinks over.   
  
"Thanks," she murmured as I set them down on the table.   
  
"Here, I got ya a straw," I passed it to her and she smiled.   
  
"How did you guess?"   
  
"Dunno. Figured you weren't one fer bars, is all." Finally, a smokin' section. I lifted a cigar to make sure she was okay with me lightin' up, and she motioned for me to go ahead.   
  
"You were right. The last time I was in a bar was..." she trailed off, with that kind of voice saved for the bad things. "Well, let's just say it was a long time ago."   
  
"Understood," I replied, shaking ashes onto the table. "So."   
  
"So?" She tucked a think strand of hair behind her ears. "How's life?"   
  
"Same, can't complain."   
  
"You don't complain at all, Logan." She seemed like she would have laughed if I hadn't looked at her with such interest.. "I didn't realize it till just then. You don't complain if you can help it."   
  
"Correction, Red," I shook my head. "I don't complain to you. Don't mean I keep it up locked up."   
  
"Who, then?"   
  
"Whoever'll listen."   
  
"Fair enough." She stirred her straw absentmindedly, making the icecubes tinkle against each other. Nice sound. "But I'd listen."   
  
"Sure, you would. You're a woman."   
  
"Excuse me? What does that have to do with anything?"   
  
"Women like to listen to all your problems, then solve 'em, and congratulate themselves on being clever and sensitive to everybody's needs. And stuff."   
  
"That's not true. You just set back feminism fifty years." I loved the way her hair curled around her shoulders as she glared at me. "Besides, what's wrong with solving problems?"   
  
"Some things are better left untouched, you know that."   
  
"What things would that be, specifically?"   
  
"What, you want an example or somethin'?" She nodded. "Shit, I don't know."   
  
"No, I agree with you, don't worry."   
  
"Then why did you give me a hard time?"   
  
"Conversation's sake," she purred, raising her straw to her mouth. I swear, she knew what she did to me sometimes. "How was your day?"   
  
"Fine."   
  
"I had a good day," she decided, her eyes wandering around the room. "I think this drink is starting to get to me."   
  
"You're fine," I assured her, considerin' it was just one margarita with a straw. "Want another one?" She nodded briskly. She downed the second a lot faster, and without a straw. Meanwhile, I'm still on my first.  
  
"Slow down, tiger," I said, easing the glass away from her hands. "Won't look too great if I bring ya home with a hangover."   
  
"I don't want to go home tomorrow, damn it." She stated firmly, sliding her drink back to her side of the small table.   
  
Fantastic. I shoulda known someone as small as Jeannie couldn't handle her drinks. "Maybe we should get you to bed."   
  
"I'm not that kind of girl, Logan," she told me a matter of factly. I sat back down, noticing my beer was finally runnin' low. But I wasn't in the mood to stand up again. "Penny for your thoughts."  
  
"Don't waste your money." I gulped down the remaining slosh at the bottom of the mug. My favourite part.   
  
"But really, what do you think about, Logan? I never can tell."   
  
"So look."   
  
"I'd never do that, and you know it, " she mumbled.  
  
"Well, Red, I'm givin' you permission. Are ya scared?"   
  
"Of course I am. God only knows what you think about all day." She swept her hair off her face. "At least you'd have to give me a filtered version if I asked."   
  
I decided to answer. "I think about...all sorts of stuff. About the past, about hockey, about...you know, stuff." Maybe not the way I meant it to come out.   
  
"How eloquent of you. Stuff." She chuckled lightly (not mocking me, more like to fill the quiet).   
  
"What about you, Miss Wanna Know It all? What runs though your mind all day?"   
  
She opened her mouth to say something, but paused in the position for a few seconds. "Just how I wish I could grow up. How we could all grow up."   
  
"Wanna run that one by me again?"   
  
Jean tossed her head from side to side from sliding closer to me. "Don't you ever feel like it's time to move on from all this?"   
  
"All what? Drinkin'?"   
  
"No," she bit her lip. "The superhero gig." She saw the look in my eyes. "I mean, come on Logan, we're adults. Grown up. How much longer do you really see yourself saving the world from evil masterminds?"   
  
I shrugged. "Long as it takes?"   
  
She threw up her hands. "See, that's the problem with you people. You're not thinking about the future." She took a tiny sip from her glass. "Scott never sees it my way. All he sees is the grand vision, the glorious dream. The magical future that always seems to be just out of reach."   
  
I chuckled. "What future is that?"   
  
"The one Charles always wanted. A peaceful existence between man and mutant. I can practically see it forming in Scott's head sometimes. He thinks about it constantly. Both of them, they really believe."   
  
"You don't?" I tried hidin' the surprise in my voice.   
  
"I admire their courage. Their blind hope. But not me, not anymore." She shifted in her seat. "I don't feel like I belong there anymore. Everyone has their little slot. Their own niche. But me, I'm nothing. I'm the one who was thrown into the middle of this whole thing too soon and can't summon the courage to get out."  
  
"Don't talk like that, Red."   
  
"No, really, I mean it. I was so young when all this started. So young...I can't even write my parents anymore. After all, what would I say? 'Hey Mom, Dad, just back from the Cosmos, did you forward my mail like I asked?' It's impossible, because they'd never understand."   
  
"Do they know anything? About how you live?"   
  
"How I live? Not much. Just whatever I can fit into a ten-minute conversation over the phone. And even then I have to leave out the blood and guts."   
  
"In other words, the fun stuff."   
  
"Says the man with the healing factor." She pushed the glass aside. "I don't know, maybe I've tried too much to distance them from my life now. They're family, an entirely different world practically. If I manage to keep them separate, I can be two people. And they can both live at the same time." She looked at me as if she was expecting me to tell her she was crazy.   
  
"Okay," was the best I could come up with.   
  
"God, listen to me, babbling on and on. I'm sorry, I must be boring you." She reached for her purse.   
  
"No, no," I insisted, grabbing her wrist. "I like hearing you talk. I mean, how often do we just get to sit and talk, just me an' you?" She slowly sat back down.   
  
"Rarely. But this talk seems fairly one sided, " she reasoned.   
  
"Fair enough. What do you want me-"  
  
"I want to know what you think about." Damn it, she was even using that voice! Damn her!  
  
"I told you."   
  
"Stuff doesn't count, Logan."   
  
I took a deep breath of the air around me, which was stale and sticky in my throat. Most of the idiots have left over the time we'd been here. Probably past their bedtimes. " I think about...never growin' up." Jean raised an eyebrow, but kept her mouth shut. "I like things how they are. Being a superhero. Saving the world. It's...fun." I noticed the dark look in her eyes and offered, "But you're wrong, Jeannie. You ain't the only one who don't belong."   
  
"Then we're an odd pair the, huh? Just a couple of misfits."   
  
"You're not a bad lookin' misfit, either way," I chuckled.   
  
"Then you really think so? We're...two of a kind?"   
  
"Sure, Jeannie. Kindred souls, whatever."   
  
"Why do think that?"   
  
"I just do. Why does everything need a reason?"   
  
"Then it makes more sense. What's life without a little sense and order?"   
  
"Gee, I don't know, mine?" I replied. "Look Red, I'm not big on spillin' guts, unless they're somebody else's. I don't like talkin' much about me, or my feelings, or my fuckin' favourite colour."   
  
"Is it red?"   
  
"What?"  
  
"Your favourite colour. Just a guess."   
  
"No, it's not," I growled. "Blue."   
  
"Odd. You never struck me as a blue person. More...red. Possibly black."   
  
"How the fuck does it matter anyway?"   
  
"Okay, here's one for you. What does everything have to matter?"   
  
"Because it should."   
  
"Why can't there be stupid, idle chats about favourite colours and the weather?"   
  
"It wastes time."   
  
"Don't be an idiot." She leaned in closer. "People need to be idiotic."   
  
"Yeah, well, people are idiots anyway. Even without the stupid things."   
  
"I hate you. You're a terrible person, you know that?" She threw her head back in frustration. "How can you live like that?"   
  
"We ain't all little rays of sunshine and bliss like yerself, Jeannie," I mused as I thumbed the rim of my empty mug.   
  
"Excuse me for smiling once a century."   
  
"Smilin' is overrated."   
  
"So is pissing and moaning about nothing at all." I had to fight back laughin', 'cause she looked so flamin' proud and noble sittin' across from me with that angry look on her face.   
  
"Are you still drunk?"   
  
"No." She was lying.   
  
"Alright then, I think it's time for bed."   
  
"I reluctantly agree." She spat at me, streaming into the lobby faster than I could keep up. I had to jump into the elevator. She slumped against me almost right away.   
  
"I really shouldn't have stood up so fast, Logan," she wheezed, clutchin' my shirt. "I feel dizzy."   
  
"Just hang onto me," I told her, prayin' she wasn't TOO sick. She obeyed, wrapping her arms around my waist for balance. Then I looked down at her, just as she glanced up.   
  
Then we were kissing.   
  
I know, I know, you saw it comin' a mile away, right? Well, believe it or not, I didn't.  
  
The floor appeared and we stumbled off, still connected at the mouth. Somehow, we managed to open the door and fall inside, still latched on to each other. She shrugged off her flimsy jacket, and coiled her arms around my neck, with me lovin' it the whole time.   
  
Suddenly it occurred to me. What was gonna happen in the morning?   
  
Like always, I knew what I didn't wanna know, the truth. This girl, this woman, I loved so much, wasn't mine. And if I let myself go, I'd wake up tomorrow and realize that in a big way. Realize that I'd never be one she was gonna pick. The runner up. The fuckin' loser.   
  
This all came to me in a second. A quick, painful thought. I pushed her away.   
  
"No, Jeannie." I stepped back a couple feet. "No, it's not right."   
  
"What?" She stood there in front of me, hair a mess and half naked, and so very beautiful. And with a look on her face that I'd never seen before. "What?"   
  
"You're drunk," I shook my head. "I ain't gonna take advantage of that."   
  
"Shut up, I know exactly what I'm doing," she insisted, steppin' toward me again. I held her back.   
  
"Go to sleep, Jean. Trust me, just go to sleep."   
  
She slowly got it I was wasn't kiddin'. "I'm a big girl, I know what I'm doing."   
  
"It's wrong..."   
  
"Damn it, I'm tired of always doing the right thing for the right reasons! I want to be wrong!"   
  
"For the wrong reasons."   
  
"Does there always have to be a reason?" She half smiled at me, then rocked back on her heel.   
  
"And what makes you think I'd steal somebody else's-"  
  
She put a finger to my mouth. "You can't steal what's yours, you stupid ape."   
  
"Shut up before you get yerself in trouble, Red," I took her hand off my face and placed it by her side. "Before I start believin' ya."   
  
"I'm not so drunk."   
  
"Yeah, you are. And hell, who knows, maybe if I was a little more the same I'd quit over thinkin'. But-"  
  
"I know, I know." She slumped onto the bed. "God, do I ever know."   
  
"I'm gonna leave, okay?"   
  
"Right."   
  
"You'll be okay?"   
  
"Logan, I'm not that completely devastated." Could hear the laugh in her voice. "Just one thing."   
  
"Name it."   
  
She stretched out on the bed, placed her head in her hands. "Lie to me."   
  
"Well," I began. "Tomorrow mornin', when you wake up, nothin' will be wrong. Everything's gonna make perfect sense, like you don't really feel like yer pulled in five directions. And I can wake up right next to ya, cause that won't be wrong either." I opened the door. "How was that?"   
  
"You forgot the best part."   
  
"What? Oh, right. And we all grow up and live happily ever after."   
  
"Thank you." I closed the door behind me.   
  
  
  
  
When we got back to the house, everything was exactly the same. Jean went to him, and he never suspected a thing. Even choked out a 'thanks' for takin' such good care of her. I really wanted to laugh at that, but I just nodded and handed him a suitcase.   
  
That night I sat down to write a letter. I went through three drafts, finally coughin' it out some time before three. I scribbled Jean's name on the front and sealed it, not really carin' what she'd think or say. It didn't really matter. Because not everything had to matter.   
  
I'd wait till the pictures got developed. To give her the letter. Unless I changed my mind.   
  
  
  
  
And now I'm still sittin' here holding the same thing I wrote to her. Two years ago. I want to rip it to shreds, slice it in two, burn it to crisps. Why I can't I don't know.   
  
I remember how she looked when I first saw her, out in some garden that I wouldn't be able to point out if I tried. She was perfect in ways I'd never consider; the way she held herself, the way she laughed; the way she smiled. I adored her.   
  
Years passed.   
  
I learned that no, my Jeannie wasn't so perfect. She wasn't the immortal beloved I made her out to be. 'Course, I had to figure out this the hard way, because sometimes love can blind a guy. But nope, she wasn't perfect.   
  
On the outside, sure. Never seen anyone prettier or better dressed or more lady-like. Perfect manner, a woman who always know the right thing to say and when to say it.   
  
But inside, she's this...torrent of everything; pain, desire, anger, desperation. She's dyin' to get out, I know it, I feel it. She just wants, I think, to give it.   
  
And I'm ramblin' again.   
  
Why? How does she do this to me?   
  
Fuck, I wish I knew. I really wish I knew.  
  
  
Yet another author's note: I have one more chapter planned for this and I'm guessing that'll be the end to this little tale of woe. Go ahead, tell me if I'm crazy.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Closure?

  
  
  
Disclaimer: I won't have your rules. They're all mine. Enough said.   
  
Author's Note: I think this is it.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Space and Privacy Part Four   
  
  
  
  
Here's the thing: I never did finish that stupid report. At least, not on time. 'Course, you probably don't remember that, mainly because you probably don't care. But there was this thing I had to write for History class, this crappy little thing that I didn't even want to do in the first place. You can't even blame me though. I got a little distracted because of IT (that's how I refer to it now; IT. if you haven't got a clue what IT is, I'm not explaining again. Sorry).   
  
The paper did get finished, though it may have been a teensy bit late (like, try 3 days) Anyway, it went a little something like this (it's about Russia or some junk):   
  
  
  
"Catherine the Great was this ruler who lived a really long time ago over in Russia. She really supported the Arts, like dancing and stuff, and made her country really cultured. But all her people were really hungry and poor, only she didn't know. It's not like she didn't notice or anything, it's just her advisors wouldn't tell her. It's kinda like the deal with that French lady who got beheaded, and said, 'Let them eat cake'. Only Cathy didn't know they were starving in the first place (more about that later). The only reason they called her 'great' was of all the good things she did for culture and stuff..."  
  
  
  
Trust me, it doesn't get much better. Oh, and the teach didn't much appreciate my lack of, uh, research, either. He's on this big 'homework' kick...I kind of failed.   
  
No big deal, really. I fail things all the time. It's a part of life. Deal with it, move on.   
  
Unfortunately, I can't say the Professor agrees with my flawless philosophy. I was planning on you know, NOT letting him find out. As I said before, this wasn't exactly a one time thing. He'd flip the wig he didn't have if he found out.   
  
I overlooked the fact the guy is a friggin' TELEPATH.   
  
So he didn't ground me. What was the good, he reasoned out loud, when I never seemed to learn anything either way? Instead, he said to me, "Jubilee, I think that the problem is you need to work on your discipline..." Blah, blah, blah. Bottom line is, I got stuck with the chores. Oh, but that doesn't sound so bad, right?   
  
Obviously, you've never lived in a house with ten people at one time. Messy, sloppy, terrible people. And I'd be damned if I wasn't one of them!   
  
Luckily, I got off pretty easy. The Prof. Handed me a list, which, though it looked long,, was filled with short stuff.   
  
  
  
Dust: while a pain in the ass, not so hard. A child could do it (and I was sooo not a child)  
  
Sweep front hall, kitchen, parlour...it goes on and on and on: easy. A little sneezy, but easy. (heh, that rhymed)  
  
Empty all the wastebaskets and take out trash: Oh, hell. Do you have any idea how much garbage we make in one week? Save that one for last.   
  
Take inventory of kitchen cupboards: Oh I just KNOW he did that one just to spite me.   
  
  
  
It took me all afternoon to stock up everything in that stupid cupboard. Fifteen minutes, combined, on the dusting and sweeping, and three hours to take everything out, write it down, and put it back. Not to mention the stuff I had to throw out (I found a jar of marmalade I think was older than Wolvie). But, I succeeded!   
  
Mind you, I was more than a little pissed when I remembered I still had to empty all those trashcans. Everybody was out back, eating their lovely barbecued food. Yes, barbecue! We like, never get to barbecue. I swear, the old guy is out to get me. Or, just really, really piss me off.  
  
By the time I had actually gotten to the second floor, I had counted fourteen baskets I had emptied. That's just plain ridiculous. Okay, so maybe at this point I was in a very unforgiving mood but really! Fourteen, people! One floor! Is anyone else noticing a slight overkill?   
  
Remy's room, fifteen. 'Ro's room, sixteen. Jean and Scott's (codenames Priss and Spanky, don't ask), seventeen and eighteen. Hall, nineteen. Add three more, for the other rooms and an oddly placed one near the stairs (can anyone say NEAT FREAK?) and figured it was downhill from here, baby. Just one more: Logan's room.   
  
Goody! How much junk can a ghost make in one week, anyway? I was beginning to doubt he even existed anymore. He never showed up at meals, never watched TV (which really had me worried, since I, personally, can go no longer than a day), and never tried to talk to anybody. Not even me! Right now, he was probably off doing something on his own, or being drunk. Normally, I wouldn't be too worried, since all of this wasn't exactly uh, unusual. Yeah, I should be more concerned if he started to take up tap dancing, or dressed in pink. But you see, I KNEW.   
  
Those two had no idea I knew. For all their superhero background, they're not the most observant pair on the planet. I can understand Jean; I've always had a sneaking suspicion she paid more attention to her reflection than to most conversations. But Logan, man, I expected better. You'd think you'd notice if someone was watching your every move. But, alas, Wolvie was far too busy watching someone else's every move. Oh, and if you can guess that someone, you're no rocket scientist, sorry.   
  
ANYWAY it's my very last stop, because I'm sick and tired of doing all this cleaning. The professor should thank me for being so good about cleaning his million-year-old pantry. If I were him, I'd give me a twenty to boot. But, you know how it is, me and ol' Chuck aren't always on the same wavelengths.   
  
Now see, Logan's room is new territory. I swear, it's like stepping into a whole other house. Every other place in the house has this normal feel to it (except Hank's-too creepy mad scientist for me). But (insert sigh here) Logan's taken three years to get his room to look lived in. Anything in there is there because he has no where else to put it. Personal touches? Not unless you count jack knives or the three (total) outfits in his closet.   
  
Cautiously I make my way to the tiny trashcan. Hey, a bookshelf, that's new. Whoa, and books. Hey...maybe I should be worried, even though from what I can see of the closet, we haven't got any pink yet. I lean over to grab the first book I see. "Lord of the Flies." Yeah, I was supposed to read that one for Lit. class. Key word: supposed.   
  
I lost my balance while trying to level out on one foot, with one elbow against the bookcase and, my arm trying to clutch the wastebasket. I'm sure no one heard the thud that follow as I fell, the clang as the metal trashcan hit off the bed, and I hope no one heard my profanity-laced battle cry as I saw the entire contents spilled out across the floor.   
  
I attempted to stand up, which was difficult with a trashcan tangled up in your bracelet (stupid Remy- he always teased me about my huge bangles...bracelets, people, bracelets). I threw it across the room, where it clattered into something hanging on the wall. I'm sure Logan would appreciate my redecorating; this would knock off months of trying to get that pile of junk to tumble just right.   
  
Grumbling, I crawled over and began stuffing the stuff into Jubilee's magic sack of crap (my affectionate nickname for my garbage bag of wonders). I picked up a small scrap of paper and unravelled it.   
  
"Ooh, Pearl, 867-5309!" I laughed, wondering what the poor girl had gotten herself into. Well, probably not much, considering her number was thrown way. What a burn, man.  
  
I found a receipt for a pair of boots, a library card, and three separate newspapers. I chucked in another handful of crap before I noticed a little envelope.   
  
"How cute, Wolvie has a girlfriend," I cooed, picking it up and growing increasingly tempted to look at it. It was folded, so I thumbed it open. And actually gasped.   
  
I didn't think people still gasped in this day and age. I mean, I figured actual 'gasping' was reserved for lottery winners and soap opera characters. Nonetheless, I gasped.   
  
Though smudged, and torn, and obviously a little old, there it was scribbled on the front: Jeannie. Holy crap, this was all too familiar. Didn't I tape this back? I wondered frantically as sat rock solid with raised eyebrows. Is this even the same one? Is it my lucky day or what?   
No! No, that would be wrong, to open this now. If I resisted once, I could it again, right? Well, no! Because trying something just once is enough for me. Golly I wanted to open this right now and oh my God I just said golly and thank God no one is around to hear me!  
  
I carefully weighed my options, you know, the pros and cons. A pro was that it would very good to know what I failed that paper for. A con is the whole 'privacy' issue. Hmm. Oh well, I thought, hypocrisy suited me just fine!   
  
I heard footsteps down the hall and, without realizing what I was doing, stuffed the envelope into my back pocket. Sure enough, Logan stepped in with a frown and his face (See! I knew I had nothing to worry about! He's back to normal!).   
  
"What are ya doin' in here, kid?"   
  
"Err, I got stuck with chores, and whatnot, I'm...cleaning." I jumped up, after stuffing the remaining mess into my magic sack in a big kind of hurry. "But, I'm done now, so I'll be going!" I practically dove for the door.   
  
"Seya later, kid," I heard him say behind me. Which, I'm sure, was followed by, "She gets weirder every day," or something to that effect.   
  
I left my trash bags outside to be picked up and paused in the doorway for a moment. For the last five minutes I had been working on auto-pilot, not really thinking about what I was doing. Now, it was me again. My hand drifted to my back pocket...  
  
"Hello, Jubilation." I whipped my hand away. It was only Ororo.   
  
"Oh, hey, how's it hanging?" I replied, my mind completely somewhere else. She paused, giving me an odd glance, before smiling in that damned serene way she has.   
  
"We're all out back, if you wished to join us."   
  
'Oh yeah, sounds great, be right there," I assured her as she went on her way. I slapped my forehead. Did I actually just ask 'Ro how it was hanging? Honestly, sometimes my coping skills leave much to be desired.   
I went outside.   
  
Grabbing a plate and serving myself, I noticed that everybody was already done. With the exception of Bobby, who seemed to be on at least his third helping, as usual. I sat down beside him and Kitty.   
  
"Hey pipsqueak," he greeted between chews. I glared at him. I was only like, two inches shorter than him.   
  
"Hey Jubes, where have you been all day?"   
  
I snapped my attention to Kitty, who was sipping thoughtfully on her Coke. "Chores," I answered. "All day long, I just worked my butt off."   
  
"That's horrible! I mean, you don't have much of a butt to begin with-" Kitty and I both slapped his head at the same time. "Ow! Geez, take a joke, huh?"   
  
"Was it because of that paper?" Kitty asked me, currently ignoring one Robert Drake.   
  
I nodded. "Maybe you should write all my homework from now on," I laughed.   
  
Bobby shook his head solemnly. "I already tried, Jubes, and she can't be bought. Ow, what was that one for?"   
  
"Now I remember why I hate sitting at the lunch table with this guy," Kitty muttered under her breath. Bobby frowned and jumped off the table.   
  
"Well, I can tell when I'm not wanted," he said crisply, walking away.   
  
"Poor guy," I rolled my eyes.   
  
"Don't worry, he's just getting more food."   
  
The envelope was burning a hole in my back pocket. I was so tempted to run up to my room and read it all now. But at that moment Bobby returned, with a little army in tow.   
  
"Hey y'all, who's up for a trip to town?" John did a little dance to inspire us all. Marie just laughed and walked over to our side.   
  
"Forgive me, I put the idea in their heads," Marie whispered to me.   
  
"Well, that sounds okay. C'mon Jubes, let's go." Kitty nudged my side.   
  
I shook my head. "Nah, I got homework..." I started.   
  
"Don't be such a dork. I'll help you with it later. Promise." She grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet.   
  
"Okay, fine," I agreed reluctantly. "We can go."   
  
Bobby held out his hand expectantly, with that stupid grin of his. "Keys, please." I pursed my lips and handed them over, having begun the habit of carrying my keys instead of leaving them where Popsicle knew they were.   
  
  
  
  
As I'm sure you already assumed, I have a pretty hectic, fun filled, busy life (roll your eyes and DIE, bub), and two days passed by before I remembered the sorry-looking letter, sticking out unwisely from my math book. Funny, I never put it there. Then again, I also didn't spend a cool twenty last week on a pair of hoop earrings, so let's just say it was likely I just had a lousy memory.   
  
I slipped unnoticed into the bathroom, cleared a space on the cluttered counter for myself (I always meant to mention this to Kitty, but I never did. After all, half the mess was mine...). My shining example of a roommate was playing tennis this afternoon, if I had heard correctly at breakfast (um, I don't usually listen. As much as I love 'er, she goes on and on and...). I should have the room to myself for at least ten minutes (which is like, a God-sent).   
  
Hmm. What WAS that insistent little humming at the back of my brain? Oh, right. My conscience. Honestly, if I liked her, I'd talk Jean into wiping it clean away for me. I wished it would shut up. For cryin' out loud, I knew it was wrong to peek into other people's private thoughts. That's why I was doin' it!   
  
La la la, look at me! Opening the envelope! Taking the letter out! Snapping it open with a flick of my hand! The little prick in the back of my mind stayed quiet. Wimp.   
  
As I (frantically...hesitantly...etc...use your imagination) scanned over the pages, amazed at how much dirt was in these pages (well, the stuff I could pick out anyways).   
  
And no, I am not going there, so don't ask me to tell you what was written. Remember the problem about having no privacy? Well, the golden rule applies here. Come on. Even I have limits.   
  
But...I guess I'm not crossing the line if I IMPLY what was scribbled on the page...okay, okay, if you're twisting my arm and all.   
  
Here's the gist of it: he was sorry (for what exactly, I don't know, details are sketchy) and he knew she was sorry too (yeah, I know, but really, it got foggier by the sentence). All this high drama took place during some...weekend, I'm guessing? Geez, I can hardly even pick out these words! Okay, okay, priorities, Jubes! Let's see, blah, blah, blah, some dangerously mushy crap I'd rather not repeat, and...ah, here we go, the last sentence:   
  
  
  
Here's hoping I never gotta write something like this again, Red.   
  
  
  
It wasn't signed, and only had a scribbly L covering the tiny space left at the page end.   
  
And here I was thinkin' I didn't have a reason to worry about that guy, I thought to myself as I crumbled the paper to a ball and considered flushing it down the toilet. No, that wouldn't work. Clogged drain rises suspicion. The last thing I need when I just intercepted the biggest find in ions.   
  
So I stuff the THING in my jeans pocket (which was totally proving itself in usefulness) and run a hand into my short anyway hair. Professor's words running through my head.   
  
With great power comes great responsibility...  
  
Or, Jubilee's version: with a wicked burn comes one helluva guilt trip.   
  
This all goes back to the primal urge I have to refuse to leave well enough alone. It's too bad I never listened to the stupid cat who got killed when he was too curious. Always seemed to me that he just didn't cover his tracks well enough.   
  
I crept downstairs, practically keelin' over from my hunger. I skipped dinner. The light was off in the kitchen, and it's only ten o'clock. Normally, I'd find this funny, because I live with a buncha grandmas who have to tuck in early. But needless to say, I was a little too preoccupied to think about how lame my friends are.   
  
I grab a Coke out of the fridge (I realize our leftovers suck, so I was pretty much screwed either way) and gulp down half the can. Caffeine is so right.   
  
I hear the roar of a motorcycle getting closer to the house, and wince. I was not in a mood to look at Wolvie now. Funny, you'd think I'd want to fire Q's in his face, but uh-uh. I was gonna be just as lame as the rest of the house and go to bed. I skip out to the closest set of stairs.   
  
"Hey kid," I hear behind me.   
  
I wince before turning around, still on the third stair. "Oh, hey Logan."   
  
He was walking into the kitchen. "Turnin' in so early?"   
  
Reluctantly, I followed him as far as the doorway. "I had a...rough day."   
  
He's at the fridge, probably getting' a beer (as if he hadn't drunk enough the whole night). "Oh yeah?" I can't say it was a real question; more like an uninterested response. To Logan, my rough days consisted of bad hair or a sold out Blink 182 concert. To him, the only person who can REALLY have a bad day is, well, him. He can be pretty full of himself if he puts his mind to it.   
  
"Yeah," I answer back. I step further into the room. "I read the strangest letter today."   
  
He kinda grunted in response. "One of your weird buddies, I spose?"   
  
No, Jubes, don't do it, a voice said inside my head said. Oddly enough, it was the same voice that got me into this whole mess in the first place.   
  
"Um, no. No one you know." I threw my half-full Coke into the trash and tried to hurry up to my room. I slid the note into one of the books lying on my desk (who ever reads books anyway?) and actually went to bed.   
  
Crisis averted.   
  
  
  
  
"Are you sure you didn't unknowingly sacrifice your, like, brain to science, or something?"   
  
I ignored Kitty's whine and shifted so my back faced her. "Yeah, well, we can't all be born child prodigies," I muttered, rolling my eyes for, like, the millionth time that day.   
  
"Excuse me?" Kitty (being the patient, kind, good friend she is) stood up and dropped my books onto the couch. "Look Jubes, I'm not gonna help you if you're moody, got it?"   
  
"Don't be such a whiner, Kitty," I replied, concentrating on finishing the world's smallest paper airplane. "You're the one who promised to help me with this junk."   
  
Kitty nodded, and looked around the empty room. "Yeah well, the first step is to help yourself." She made a little huff and walked out.   
  
Ugh. She had been listening to those self-help tapes again. I knew I shoulda destroyed them when I had the chance.   
  
"So what they got ya studyin' nowadays?" Logan had sauntered into the room and nearly brought my Diet Coke back to haunt me. He picked up the stack of books Kitty had (unfairly) left behind. I think it was my English text.   
  
"Crap," I answered. "I hate school."   
  
"Yeah, well..." he drifted off. I braced myself for a lecture on how important school was for a young mind like myself (yup, even wild rebel Wolverine has his moments. He's totally awful at lectures, trust me).   
  
But instead, he was quiet for a moment. "What is this?"   
  
I turned and half expected him to have found some failing grade. But what he held wasn't an F. It was the letter.   
  
You ever get the feeling that your lungs suddenly took a vacation? Well then, you know how I felt just then. "Wolvie, I-"  
  
"This is mine."   
  
Man, when he had a point, he had a point. "Yes, I know, if you'll let me explain..."   
  
"What the fuck are you- did you read it?" He was standing in the same position, looming over me as I shrank into my chair.   
  
I nodded slowly, "Yes." He's so still, but I can practically see his raging thoughts inside.   
  
"So you went into my room and went through my stuff-"  
  
"No! I didn't. I was cleaning out the trash, and I just sort of - found it." Damn it, it sounded so much better in my head!   
  
"What made you think you could take it!"   
  
"You were going to throw it out anyway." I muttered under my breath, which he, OF COURSE, heard anyway.   
  
"So that makes it okay? Because I threw it away?" I almost wished he would get mad, really mad, and scream and shout and just... react. The way he was now, with just the hint of the rage in his voice, only flecks of what he was thinking and feeling inside. Oh, fuck.   
  
"Well..." Oh, go ahead Jubes, the voice inside my head said (whose fault this was anyway). He's already pissed as hell. Maybe they'll give you a nice funeral. "Better me than someone else."   
  
"What?" I had given up on eye contact a long time ago. I could only imagine the daggers he was throwin' at me now. "And why is that?"   
  
I summoned up all the guts and bravado (again, television saves the day) and turned my head to face him, wishing I had the hindsight to scribble down some version of a will.   
  
"Because. I already knew."   
  
Logan actually eased up a little, actually seemed amused. "Oh? You did, did ya?"   
  
He didn't believe me, I realized. Before I had time to decide whether or not that was a good thing, my inner voice blurted out, "I found it in Jean's room. Picture and all."   
  
I thought that would do the trick. He seemed to believe me now, though was tryin' hard as hell not to show it. "Oh yeah? How much?"   
  
I wasn't sure what he meant. "What?"   
  
He shook his head, as if deciding against what he wanted to know. "I meant, how long?"   
  
I shrugged, inwardly grateful he wasn't yelling. If I was him, I would be. "I dunno, a couple months?"   
  
"Yeah." He sat down on the couch.   
  
"I didn't tell anybody, if that's what you're, ya know, worried-"  
  
"I ain't worried, darlin'. I trust ya." Well, that was nice. Odd, but nice.   
  
"Guess you're kinda mad at her, then?" I asked softly.   
  
"Who?"   
  
"Jean," I replied.   
  
"Nah," he said coolly.   
  
"But she got me into this whole mess! I even failed my paper because..."  
  
"Wait, you failed somethin'?"   
  
I was not in the mood for Wolvie's big brothering right now. "Don't change the subject. God, this is just like you!" I cried, jumping out of my chair and standing in front of him, hands on my hips in my most intimidating pose. Okay, so maybe not so intimidating, but still!   
  
Logan, now nursing an unlit cigar in his mouth, just nodded. "Sit down before ya hurt yerself, kid." He felt around his pocket for a lighter. "And then we'll talk."   
  
"I don't want to sit down, Logan." I threw my hands up angrily. "You always gotta defend her like that?"   
  
"Who, Jean?" I nodded. "I don't. Yer the one babblin', not me."   
  
"Sometimes, I don't think you even mean to. Why? Why do you do this to yourself?"   
  
He looked annoyed. "Look, I don't need some kid tellin' me what-"  
  
I was so tempted to scream out at the top of my little lungs that I WAS NOT a kid anymore. That I had NOT been a kid for a very long time. But I had better things to yell about. "Logan, listen to me. This isn't healthy."  
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"Your little obsession with Jean," I said quietly, making sure no one was around before going on. "It's almost scary."   
  
"Shut up, okay? Ya don't know what yer talkin' about."   
  
Too bad for him, but once I got started I wasn't about to stop. "I do, though! I watch you, and I know what all this is." My hair, which normally behaved, was acting as angry as me. "I swear, it's nothing more than a crush. A little schoolboy crush."  
  
I could tell Logan was really trying to keep his cool. I mean, really trying. "You don't know."  
  
"But I do!" I insisted. "You're so fucking infatuated, you can't see the bad things."   
  
"I'm warnin' ya..."  
  
"I bet you can't even name three things you don't like about her. Not three things."   
  
"Fuck, Jubes, I can name a hundred."   
  
"Try me."   
  
"Okay then." He stood and turned away from me, thinking for a good minute before facing me again.   
"I...don't like her handwriting." He stuffed a hand in his pocket. "Too curly. Hard to read."   
  
"Excuse me?? Is that the best you can-"  
  
"Lemme finish, will ya?" He growled. Well, this was more like it. "She gets defensive over practically nothing. She can be real petty, and vicious, and mean. And her skull's as thick as plaster..."   
  
"Yeah," I agreed slowly, carefully making sure I understood what he was saying. "And she is kind of a princess."   
  
After a moment, Logan nodded too. "Well, sure..."   
  
"Have you seen how many types of shampoo that woman has?"   
  
"I wouldn't know..."  
  
"And I'm pretty sure she's addicted to Pepsi-"  
  
"Okay, Jubes, I get it." He coughed out a small laugh. "She's yer favourite person, huh?"   
  
I had to laugh a little too. "Oh, yeah. Like, totally." And he didn't even hear the whole list.   
  
The room, which miraculously have remained empty, 'cept for us two, was quiet for a long time. After a big silence, I spoke up.   
  
"Do you remember what you told me once?" I looked down at my feet. "About how love was the toughest thing a person could live through?"   
  
"Nope."   
  
I went on, ignoring his answer. "You sat right across from me, with that gross Canadian beer you always drink, and said that being in love was the most painful thing in the world. Actually, no, it wasn't that. You said that having someone to love was..." I paused. "She won't leave him, you know."  
  
I figured that might be crossing the line, pushing the limit. I was already pretty lucky I still had all my limbs, considering...  
  
"Yeah." He lit his cigar and turned towards the kitchen. "But I love her." He stepped into the other room, and a moment later, I heard the door that lead to the outside shut with a clatter.   
  
I noticed the letter still crumbled on the floor near the chair where I sat. Which kinda made me feel sad.   
  
  
  
  
  
Things that I Learned Today  
by Jubilation Lee  
  
1. A picture only tells a thousand words. To get the whole story, scam the letter later on.  
  
2. Wolvie has the second worst handwriting I have ever seen. He is a surprisingly good speller.   
  
3. Diet Coke was only invented in 1982.  
  
4. As much as I want to, I am no longer allowed to make faces at Jean behind her back. Logan will probably be watching me now.   
  
5. Some things are worth more than they seem. Unfortunately.   
  
  
Don't ask me why I don't like Jean; I think we both know the answer to that million dollar question (oh, it has nothing to do with her perfect size two wardrobe, but trust me, that doesn't help). I wanna scream when I think how fucking easy she's had it her whole life. Her whole life. All she has to do is sigh and some guy will come to her rescue. I'm 'spose to take comfort in the fact she'll never know what it's like to be independent, to know the 'true satisfaction that comes from within'.   
  
Right. And that helps. Really.   
  
It's so fun being independent. So much fun not having people really care about how you like your toast. So much freakin' fun to have your birthday ignored because you didn't broadcast it for a week before hand.   
  
Yup, that's me. Lotsa fun over here.   
  
I haven't decided if I care anymore or not. I haven't even decided if I want to decide. Why bother, I guess. I mean, someone's probably just gonna yell at me anyway (although...it might be Jean...I've never seen HER mad...). God, this isn't fair.   
  
But if I get started on what unfair, I'll be yakking for days. Weeks, even. I've been told I talk a lot (I totally don't see it).   
  
Oh, but seriously, keep it quiet about all this, okay? I'm already this total hypocrite for blabbing it in the first place. And besides, I could kick your ass any day.  
  
Well, that's it, I guess. I think I have another paper due. No excuse this time, either. Not that I had one in the first place. Well, that all depends on who you ask, I guess...or don't ask, you got it? Keep quiet. I'm in enough crap as it is.   
  
I'm doing it again, ain't I?   
  
  
  
THE END   
  
  
  
  



End file.
